


The Flaws of Being Set in Stone

by periwinklepalaces



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Coming of Age, Fairy Godparents, Fairy Tale Elements, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insecurity, Oracles, Prophecy, Secret Identity, Secrets, Self-Doubt, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Storytime/Storybook AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periwinklepalaces/pseuds/periwinklepalaces
Summary: Virgil was meant to be a hero. Roman was not.Unfortunately, things don’t always like going to plan.(Alternatively;; If all the world's a stage, and everyone merely actors, then many are bound to be cast a role they're unhappy with. Then again, who said scripts have to be strictly followed?)





	1. Prologue

The castle was surrounded by acres of forest, dark and isolating. Vines crawled across worn stone bricks, misleading travellers into thinking it was merely abandoned. This would be a completely incorrect assumption, as it housed a redundant royal family. Legend whispered of how the forest was once a kingdom, but when the King angered a powerful wizard, it was burnt to the ground and replaced with suffocating wildlife. 

Survivors were adopted as staff by the castle, and thus the broken kingdom continued operating quietly, and secretively, since. Only those with a death wish would venture close enough to join their ranks, spurred onwards by rumours.

People with death wishes or, of course, Remy.

He didn't particularly take his role as an Oracle seriously, but sometimes prophecies became annoyingly persistent when they didn't want to be ignored. His most recent persistent prophecy led him here. He was very much complaining about it.

Remy liked to keep things casual, and fighting through overgrown thickets didn't lend itself well to that kind of vibe. Or wading through marshy waters. Or nearly getting decapitated when he finally reached the castle gates because his cloak was made of too fine a silk for any peasant to own, and therefore meant he was a threat.

He barely got through that last one alive, seeing as the few castle guards stationed didn't believe he was an Oracle. It was only by stating a fact nobody outside the castle walls would know that he was granted access, and even that was reluctant.

Remy muttered bitterly to vent his irritation as he was led down halls that seemed too quiet to be lived in. His manners weren't what they had once been, but he knew that being rude to royalty was never a good decision, even royalty that didn't technically have a title anymore. The maid leading him pretended she couldn't hear his furious cursing, despite them both knowing that wasn't true.

The room he entered at the end of their silent journey was not a large, intimidating throne room like he had been expecting. It was a personal, confined space, with a grand bed situated in the center. A man, whom he could only assume was King Marius, sat at one end with his back to the door, with his attention lying elsewhere. 

Remy raised an eyebrow at the intimate setting as the maid excused herself, watching as the King shifted to look at him. He had a warm face, that would have looked friendly if not for the somber expression and lifeless gaze.

"They said you're an Oracle?" He murmured, and despite the fact that his gaze was on him, Remy didn't have to be centuries old to recognise that his attention wasn't fully towards him. "Then surely you know why this is the worst time to visit."

Remy bowed as politely as his agitated self could. "Of course, and I apologise, your Majesty. Queen Silvia's passing must be hard for you." He peered over his darkened glasses to flash silver irises at the King's momentary resurfaced hurt. "But I've received an urgent prophecy." He stepped forward and straightened, remembering for the thousandth time how much he hated formalities. It was then, with a start, he realised the need for such an intimate setting, as ironically, at the King's side were two cradles. "With your newborn sons as the subject."

Marius' undivided attention landed on him in an instant, somber facade giving way to understandable parental panic. "My sons? What in the heavens do you mean?"

Remy stepped closer, not enough to push boundaries but more than enough to be able to see the twins, each in their respective cradles. "A prophecy foretells," He mused stiffly, letting the words fall from his lips as easily as his own name. "A pair of royal twins will grow to spread a reign of terror that stretches across land and sea."

The King's shoulders sloped in slight relief, eyes sparking with something that made Remy grimace - hope. He hated having to crush that, but it was always necessary, wasn't it? "Then, the twins will reclaim our family's former glory? My bloodline will reclaim our previous title? That- That's wonderful news!"

"No." Remy cut in, his voice sharp to avoid any miscommunication. He paused, before shrugging. "Well, yes, but the key word is 'terror'. They will not be adored - they will be spited, and your bloodline may reclaim glory, but your bloodline will also end here." For completely unrelated reasons, but he digressed. He felt guilt at the look of utter despair on Marius' face, but he was used to such expressions. It was just part of the job description.

"Is there anything I can do? To avoid that?" He asked, pleaded. Remy answered in a standard fashion, as reactions like this were not uncommon towards the more unsavoury prophecies. 

"I have no idea, your Majesty. I'm just telling you what the prophecies told me. That said, prophecies aren't usually wrong."

Marius bowed his head, clearly burdened with this information. Remy, now given an opportunity, moved in large, confident strides to stand in front of the twins. He examined the newborns, both swaddled in soft white blankets. They would have been perfectly identical, if not for their eyes. 

The boy on the left stared up at him attentively, eyes green to match his father. However, unlike his father, his eyes seemed to shine in an almost poisonous shade when the light hit them. He gurgled with a smile as he seemed to notice Remy staring, clenching and unclenching the blankets around him. Remy, in response, raised an eyebrow and threw back a soft smirk.

The boy on the right was less awake than his brother, blinking sleepily up at this stranger. His eyes would have caught him off guard if he didn't already know of them. While they could easily be brushed off as a normal brown at first glance, closer inspection showed they were actually a deep crimson. Such a shade was usually only associated with creatures that intimidated.

Remy shifted so he stood in the center of the two, placing a hand on each crib and staring down at the children intensely. He could feel their father's weary gaze burning into his back, and he couldn't say he blamed him as he spoke quietly to the infants.

"Roman, Remus." He wasn't told which was which, but he already knew. Green and red was burnt into the back of his mind. 

"You're going to create an empire."


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman isn't exactly fond of the prophecy that's haunted him his entire life.

Growing up with a prophecy held over your head was a unique experience.

It was alright, when Roman was too young to comprehend the weariness hidden behind the plastic smiles the staff wore around them. He had been carefree, happy to run off on adventures with Remus and explore within the castle walls. 

They favoured the gardens, somewhat overgrown and reminiscent of unmarked land in the eyes of a five year old. Roman would climb trees and pick flowers while Remus dug up worms and made potions out of mud and leaves. Together, they'd draw maps in the dirt with their fingers and play fight with wooden weapons. 

No, there was no issue when the twins were young. Sure, the number of staff in the castle was slowly lowering, but such details were irrelevant to young boys whose top priority was beating the other in whatever game they were playing this week.

The real issue sprouted when they grew older. Roman started to grow up and grow more aware of his surroundings. More specifically, the looks of apprehension. The glances of disdain from male staff whenever he and Remus made a joke about ruling, or the flicker of uncertainty in the eyes of the female staff when they got a bit too into their play fights. 

He started to realise that the decline of staff was because of the prophecy; running from the source despite the fact that according to said prophecy, it would be useless either way.

Understandably, the realisation that you were a source of fear was a heavy one for a nine year old. The idea of being feared was one that didn't exactly sit well with Roman, and so he decided to fix it. Or try, at least, as a prophecy wasn't something you could will away.

He stopped playing along with Remus. He stayed in his bedroom, even when Remus came knocking on his door every morning like he had since they could walk. His brother was confused, upset that Roman had suddenly pulled away for seemingly no reason. He couldn't think of anything he did recently to annoy him enough to pull such a severe act, as despite how dramatic they both were, this never happened.

Roman, now having plenty of free time as he skipped out on garden adventures, began reading the castle's collection of storybooks. They were based on real heroes and villains of history, with lovely illustrations. He got addicted to the tales, burning through book after book and boasting to his tutor every time he finished one.

He began to realise what kind of person he wanted to be in history. Prophecy or not, he wanted to be a hero, like the ones in the storybooks! He even read stories about his great-great-great-grandfather's feats, captivated with the idea of fame and glory. Of love in people's eyes, instead of fear.

This second major realisation finally sunk in at age 13, just past his birthday. 

Remus hadn't noticed the fear behind the stares, or if he had, he didn't care. He continued being reckless and rambunctious, occasionally managing to rope Roman into some obscure prank. Roman, however, had decided that he wanted to be a hero, and pulled his twin into his room to confess this. 

"Doesn't it bother you?" He murmured sheepishly, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. Remus supposed it was a nervous tick, though that didn't make sense. Roman had hardly ever been nervous when they were younger, only annoyed. He missed being close enough to know that. "Knowing we're bound to end up as villains? Cause I've been reading the storybooks and just- I want to be a hero."

Roman looked down, almost embarrassed to admit it. Remus laughed, high pitched but soft, slinging an arm over his brother's shoulders and pressing into his side. "Is that it?" He snickered as Roman glanced up with furrowed eyebrows, confused by his reaction. "We  _ are  _ going to be heroes, dumbass!"

Roman blinked slowly, processing Remus' words. "But the prophecy, it- it said we'd be hated." He reasoned hesitantly, because that was what he remembered being taught, and he couldn't see how Remus could have interpreted it otherwise.

He snorted in response, waving a hand dismissively. "Sure, people will hate us, but it's all about the intentions. If we have good intentions, we'll be heroes no matter what! Anyway, we'll never be able to get everyone to like us."

Roman mulled over this answer for a few moments, and though he didn't feel confident in that reasoning, he still nodded. "That makes sense, I suppose."

"Great!" Remus brightened as he released the other, stepping back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Want to duel?" 

Roman agreed, for old time's sake.

Just past his 16th birthday, the birthday where Remus dyed a strip of his hair white in his own act of defiance against his twin, he shared his dream with his father, within the safety of closed walls. Not that it mattered much; there weren't many staff left, as only those who felt indebted to the King had remained. 

Marius' eyes had softened as his son described his wish to be seen as a hero, to rescue people and win battles and be gracious. His eldest son, with demon eyes and a heart of gold. 

He didn't want to think about how that heart would eventually be corrupted by fate. He didn't want to imagine his boys as tyrants, though, to himself, he couldn't help but see the beginnings of a cruel leader blooming in Remus. He hated being unable to stop it.

He knew he couldn't stop it. After all, prophecies were prophecies, and the Oracle himself had confirmed it. Still, he couldn't help himself hoping, grasping onto the opportunity Roman presented him.

He placed a hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm as he offered him a comforting smile. "My boy," He sighed, and Roman relaxed slightly under gentle attention. "I'm sure with enough determination, you'll be able to achieve great heroic feats."

Roman smiled awkwardly, before pulling away from the touch. "Thank you Father but...aren't you concerned that the prophecy would get in the way of that?"

Marius looked away. He had been scared of that question, but he knew Roman was no idiot. Of course that would be a concern.

Still, he decided to do the worst thing he could have done for a hopeful young boy.

"Not at all. After all, not all prophecies come true!"

He lied.

_

Roman placed roses in the vase atop the tomb, dark crimson in a way much too similar to his own eyes. 

"I'm planning to leave tonight." He whispered, even though the gardens were vast and it was unlikely he'd be heard by anyone but the dead. "I'm finally going to journey out into the world."

It was just past his 21st birthday, and he had spent it practically alone. King Marius had passed a few months prior, after experiencing one too many heart attacks, leaving the twins with a dwindling number of staff. As soon as their father had been buried, the remaining staff had fled, no longer tethered by loyalty to the supposedly cursed children. 

Well, alone was an exaggeration. He always had Remus, who was smart but equally unstable, especially after the death of their father. He also had Dee; a friend Remus had made a few years prior after finding him trespassing in the gardens. Apparently, Dee was charismatic enough to earn himself a place in the castle, and Roman had to admit that Dee was rather nice company. 

He sighed heavily, getting up from where he had been kneeling in front of the tomb, brushing off his trousers before turning to make the walk back to the castle. The family graveyard was understandably kept as far from the main castle as possible, and the walk back passed the rose bushes Roman loved so dearly. 

He had been planning this journey for a long while now; figuring out what he'd need to bring, using maps to try and pinpoint the closest village, taking his horse, Narnia, on longer rides to test her endurance. He had given himself plenty of time to deal with his emotions over the whole matter, and yet, as sunset rushed closer, he felt his throat tighten and his palms get clammy.

He felt guilty for leaving, but everyone else had left. He was close to Remus and Dee, sure, but not nearly as close as the two were to each other. He was confident that Dee could keep them both alive when he left, so why was he hesitating?

The sound of the door creaking open bounced around the walls, and Roman winced as his pace quickened, making his way across the kitchen and out into the main hall. He would never get used to the silence and absence of life; another reason he was so desperate to leave.

"Roman!"

He let out a huff, stumbling as someone came crashing into his back, hugging him tightly. He wrinkled his nose, wriggling out of his brother's grip. "You need to take a bath. You smell disgusting." 

Remus laughed, shaking his head as he released him in favour of placing his hands on his hips. "I'm too busy for that! Dee said he bought a ship, so we're going to be able to set sail soon. Just like I said I wanted to!"

Roman's heart twisted uncomfortably. Remus was finally fulfilling his dream of becoming a...pirate? Sailor? Honestly, it was never clear, but he knew his brother had dreamed of open seas since they were young. So why did he feel guilty?

Maybe it was because all of Remus' fantasies always included him as his co-captain. 

"A boat? How exciting!" He said out loud, keeping his insecurity under lock and key. Remus gave him a somewhat suspicious look, but he ignored it. "When are we leaving?"

"You'd know if you hadn't run away as soon as you were done eating." Remus countered, sticking his tongue out. "In a month. So, where did you go?"

Roman rolled his eyes, starting to walk again. Remus, not missing a beat, trailed after him. "If you must know, I was visiting Father's grave."

Remus gave a hum to show he heard him, skipping up the stairs two at a time. "Seems like a waste of time to me. We just visited yesterday! I mean, how many flowers and flowery messages does a corpse need?"

Roman pressed his lips together as they reached the top of the staircase, pushing down the urge to refute his brother's claim. It wasn't a new thing, he told himself, Remus had been getting worse by the day. If this was their last interaction, he didn't want it to end bitterly.

So instead, he smiled. "I suppose you're right." He turned to walk to his room in the right wing, but paused, glancing over his shoulder. He hesitated, before calling. "Good night, Ree."

Remus, having already started on his way to the left wing, froze and turned to lock eyes with his brother. His eyes lit up, a toxic green wrapped in a childish happiness, as he grinned back. It had been years since they last uttered their good night routine. "G'night, Ro!"

Remus hopped off, humming happily in a way that showed he was in a good mood. Roman pressed his nails into his palms as he watched him go, before leaving himself.

There wasn't any time for changing his mind. Besides, he had a dream to fulfill.

_

The moon was at the peak of her journey across the night sky when Roman's plan was set in action. He lit his room up, keeping the curtains drawn and the moonlight out. He felt like he was doing something punishable, even though there wasn't anything abnormal with wanting to leave the nest.

He had already transferred the saddlebags to the stable, leaving him with a simple satchel to carry. He checked the contents - food, spare clothes, and other essentials - before putting on his favourite cloak. It was made of a white silk with a red inner lining, and it had served him for many years.

Roman glanced around the room he had grown up in, gaze soft for a moment before he plunged it into darkness and left for the final time.

His footsteps were light and quick as he hurried through the halls. They were eerie in the early morning, silent with only the light of the moon leaking through tall windows to lead his way. He made sure to avoid walking in direct darkness - Roman had always held a small fear of the dark, not that he would ever admit it. 

The entrance seemed much more intimidating at this hour than in the day. Even the moonlight couldn't counter the shadows that inhabited the nooks and crannies of such a large space. Roman hesitated at the sight, but he had made his mind up long ago. He wasn't going to sit here and wait for the stupid prophecy to come true. He was going to get out there and prove it wrong, whether Remus wanted him to or not.

That hesitance, however, provided just enough of a window of time for footsteps that were not his own to be heard approaching. He stiffened, worried for a moment that Remus had caught him. How would he explain himself, with his prized cloak and a satchel over his shoulder, without upsetting his twin? Roman had always been proud of his creativity and quick thinking, but even he had no idea how he'd face that.

However, it seemed that luck was on his side tonight, as when he turned around he was met with the unmistakable figure of Dee instead. Half of the man's face was that of a snake's, and though he never told them how he got cursed in such a way, it made it easy to recognise him. The moonlight reflected off his scales, and his golden pupil seemed to glow in spite of the darkness around them. He was still fully dressed, and Roman wondered if he had been asleep at all.

"You're leaving." Dee spoke flatly, skipping the useless small talk that Roman had been hoping to start with, to avoid having to address what he was doing. 

"Obviously not!" He chuckled, readjusting his satchel and glancing to his left. He could feel Dee's gaze bore into him, and it almost unsettled him how he couldn't tell if it was cold or not. "I was just-"

"Don't lie to me." Roman silenced immediately, eyes averted as Dee stepped closer. He sighed, a heavy sound and the weight of his gaze seemed to lighten. "Remus did tell you we're leaving soon, right? I suppose I can understand why staying in such a quiet castle could be uncomfortable, but-"

Roman's hands curled into fists. Right. Dee was assuming it was because of the castle, and not because of the prophecy. Remus, after all, had made it abundantly clear over the years that he didn't care about the prophecy, so perhaps he assumed Roman felt the same. But he was wrong.

"That's not why I'm leaving." He corrected, tone firm. "I want to be a hero. I want to prove that prophecy wrong, so that's what I'm going to do."

It was as if a switch had been flipped. Dee's expression instantly soured, and his gaze turned to ice. "Ah." He murmured, scrutinising Roman for a moment, as if he'd never met him before. Then, he laughed, shaking his head. Out of all the possible reactions he could have shown, that wasn't one Roman was expecting, and for a moment, he was startled. "You're running off to be a hero? You do realise how oversaturated the market is, right? It would be a useless endeavour." 

Roman sucked in a breath, gaze hardening. Part of him knew Dee was right, but a bigger, more stubborn part of him refused to accept that, especially in front of him. Both parts of him knew he was getting defensive with his carefully cultivated dream criticised, and that now was not the time to lash out. "At least I'm putting effort into my goals. I haven't seen you try to do anything since I've met you, and you're older than me!"

Then again, if he was leaving, maybe this was the perfect time.

Dee recoiled like he had been slapped, and under the thin veil of moonlight, he looked truly terrifying with the hints of anger peeking through his crumbling facade. Silence stretched between them, and Roman felt a lump in his throat. He turned, and walked swiftly to the stable shortcut. 

"Running won't stop a prophecy, you know." Dee called after him, his voice rumbling against the walls and following Roman, marching forward without looking back. "No prophecy can be avoided!"

Roman remained silent, hands tightening his satchel strap.

_ He was going to prove him wrong, even if it killed him. _


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil thought. Not about what he's going to do in the future, like most young people do - although, that did play a part - but rather what he hasn't done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ren' is used as a non-binary equivalent to 'Mom/Dad'

Virgil may be used to waking up early, but that didn't mean he liked it.

The tailor shop was open from 6am to 5pm, and his parent woke him up earlier than that to give him time to prepare for the day.

Couple that with staying up much later than considered healthy, insomnia and nightmares, and that results in a tired tailor and a handful of pricked fingers.

He was powering through the day with a few cups of coffee, and though he was sat at the front to talk to customers, it was a quiet day so he nursed a dress in need of fixing. It was a pretty thing, though clearly worn from too many parties. Or perhaps too many quests? 

He groaned quietly at the thought, pulling out a pin and spearing his pincushion before continuing his stitching. Heroes. Not to say they weren't lovely - though loads of them were conceited assholes - but the idea of such a role left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was from a family of heroes, after all. He was expected to live up to the family name, yet here he was, two decades old and still stuck in the tailor shop. Sure, their Ren didn't actively push them to go complete some heroic quest, but it was all about the subtext. At the very least, he was relieved they didn't meet up with his grandparents much anymore. Now they were obviously trying to push him into some hero role that Virgil knew would never fit him.

The bell of the tailor shop door chimed, but Virgil didn't look up until he heard the door creak closed, finishing the stitching at the dress' hem. He glanced up, eyes bored and somewhat annoyed. He had been hoping to avoid human interaction as a whole today, and with the lack of customers, he had almost convinced himself he'd get away with it. Ah well. 

The village was small, and having grown up in it, he could recognise everyone, even if he didn't have a close relationship with them. This quite often worked in his favour, especially now, as he could tell instantly that this was a traveller. A foreigner. 

I mean, Virgil didn't believe in himself that much, but he had enough belief to trust he wouldn't forget someone like that.

The man that had just entered was, first of all, unfairly attractive. He had tanned skin, with a nicely sculpted face that seemed to retain a childish friendliness despite all odds. His clothes fit well, and as a tailor Virgil could appreciate the clean work. As a gay man, he could also appreciate how amazing they looked on the other. As a gay tailor, he could absolutely appreciate the silk cloak, usually only reserved for the higher class, and how the red lining of the cloak complimented his eyes. 

And, well, if he wasn't sure of this guy being a traveller or not, his eyes would have been a dead giveaway. A chocolate brown that quickly melted into dark red, glittering with specks of gold and scarlet - Virgil knew those would be burnt into his memory.

The man grinned as he sauntered over to the counter, though Virgil could recognise an underlying nervousness in his movements. "Hello sir! I would like your finest clothing and armour, if you don't mind."

Damn, he sounded so old fashioned. Virgil rolled his eyes, grabbing his notebook from where he had earlier discarded it, flipping to a clean page as he pulled his pencil from behind his ear.

"Okay, first of all, you're in the wrong place for armour." He huffed, leaning back in his chair as he jabbed the pencil to the left. "You're looking for the metalsmith, Logan, for that. It's the shop with swords and shit in the display, you can't miss it."

The customer's face reddened slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, yes, that makes sense."

"Second of all, since you're asking for armour," Virgil sighed, a heavy sound, though he wasn't surprised. Why else would a handsome young man come into a tailor shop? "I'm going to assume you're here to get a wardrobe for some epic heroic quest or whatever." He did jazz hands at that, clearly unenthusiastic. "We have a hero package to offer. It includes tunics and shirts for you to choose from, belts, trousers, plus overcoats and alternatives for when you come across less than mild weather." He peered over the counter, gesturing to his feet and subsequently, his leather boots. "It doesn't include shoes, because we're not shoemakers, but it looks like you've got those covered anyway."

His eyes lit up with excitement, placing his hands on his hips, feet apart. It was such a stereotypical hero pose, Virgil almost scoffed. "Yes! I'm hoping to become a great hero. And that package sounds perfect."

The tailor hummed, nodding as he got up. He pulled a measuring tape from his hoodie pocket, moving from behind the counter. "Cool. We're gonna need your measurements. Can you take the cloak off? That'll make things infinitely easier."

The other did as told, carefully folding his cloak and setting it on the counter. Virgil stepped forward, first looping the tape around the base of his neck and squinting one eye as he took the measurement. "What's your name?"

"Prince Roman!" He replied, puffing his chest out, before sheepishly apologising when Virgil grumbled in annoyance when the measuring tape was unaligned. 

Virgil pulled away, noting down the measurements in his notebook, before labelling the page 'Roman Prince'. He didn't know why this guy chose to give him his surname first, but he knew he wasn't an actual prince. He may not care much about the politics of it all, but he knew enough about the nearest kingdoms to know none of them had a Prince Roman. 

He was quiet as he began to take his chest and waist measurements, focusing on the numbers on the tape and not the eyes on him, before clicking his tongue. "Virgil."

"Virgil?" The wannabe hero echoed, obviously caught off guard.

He snorted, writing down the measurement of his waist before moving onto his hips. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Oh!" Roman chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry. That's a lovely name."

Virgil pressed his lips together, focused on measuring the distance between his waist and hips. When he spoke, he made sure to promptly ignore that Roman spoke. "The package typically takes three weeks to a month to make, so I hope you plan on sticking around. It won't necessarily take that long, but we have to take into account repairs and other orders, and give leeway for complications."

Roman blinked slowly, surprised by the estimation, but quickly responded. "Oh- uh, yes, that's absolutely fine."

"I'd hope so." Virgil snickered, moving to check the measurements of his thigh, calf and knee. "It's not like we can work any faster. There's only so much stitching I can take a day."

"You work alone?" 

"Oh, fuck no. I wouldn't be able to handle all this on my own." Virgil marked down the leg measurements, tapping his pencil on the page as he tilted his head to the door to the back room. "Me and my parent."

"There's only two of you?" Roman exclaimed, and Virgil may have found his ignorance cute if he wasn't the one who had to explain everything on three hours of sleep. 

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, wrapping the measuring tape around his shoulders and letting it hang loosely. "We're a tailor shop, not a factory. What did you expect?" He rounded the counter again, turning the notebook to face him as he did so. If he noticed Roman's stuttered attempt to avoid embarrassment, he didn't say anything. "You have an address for us to send updates and the clothes to?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to get back to you on that one." He admitted, picking up his cloak and carefully slipping it back on.

"Then you better make sure to get back to me soon, Princey. If I finish the package without an address, I'm keeping it for myself." Virgil shut the notebook, tucking the pencil back behind his ear. 

Roman laughed at that, and the tailor ignored how warm and soothing the sound was. "I'll get back to you as soon as possible, Patchwork."

_

Most people would be alarmed by the twinkle of imaginary bells and the sudden scent of lavender when sat in their living room, but not Virgil. He sighed, pausing his absentminded sketching to glance at the fireplace. Growing in opacity was a figure he was well acquainted with. 

"Hey, Uncle Emile." He greeted with a lazy smile, despite being nowhere near biologically related. The man smiled back brightly, periwinkle eyes twinkling as he fluttered his wings, similar to that of a dragonfly. 

"Hidey ho, Virgil!" He waved excitedly, wings folding to rest flatly against his back as he moved to take a seat on the chair adjacent to the other. "Do you how do?"

Virgil clicked his tongue, avoiding the question but responding to an unspoken one. "Ren's still working, if you're looking for them. They want to get Lauren's wedding dress done by the end of the week."

Emile pouted slightly as his question was avoided, but responded to the unrelated statement nonetheless. "Well, I technically came to see _both_ of you, Virge. And is that Kai's Lauren?"

"Yep." He replied easily, though he couldn't help and doubt part of that statement. Emile had been his parent's fairy godfather when they were a hero, and despite Emile constantly telling him otherwise, he couldn't help but assume he was here for them, not him.

"Well, geez! Why didn't Elliott ask me to help? I would've been more than happy to whip up a nice wedding gown." The fairy's words were accompanied with swirly hand gestures, leaving faint trails of glitter in the air. "Kai and Lauren really deserve it, y'know."

Virgil chuckled, shrugging as he sunk into the couch. "I dunno. Ren didn't want to bother you, and they like doing things themself."

"I've told them they're never a bother!" Emile sighed, before crossing his legs, propping his arm on his knee and resting his chin on his knuckles. His eyes softened as he examined Virgil. "And the same goes for you. So, c'mon, tell me what's got you so down."

Virgil groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "What gave it away?"

"I've been babysitting since before you could walk, I'm pretty sure I can recognise your nervous ticks." Emile pointed out, smiling softly at his slight dramatics. "Plus you weren't being very subtle. Sometimes talking things out can help. I've been a fairy godfather for a while now, so I'd like to think I may be able to help."

Virgil bit his lip, scrubbing at his face with his hoodie sleeve pulled over one hand. "It's...nothing, really." He mumbled, slouching and glancing away. "Just had a newbie hero customer today. A really picture perfect guy too."

Emile hummed in understanding, tone sympathetic. "Thinking about heroes again, huh?"

Virgil muttered agreement, though it wasn't new. It was hard to not think about heroes, with news of them drifting around all the time. But it was easy to distance yourself from them when you hadn't directly interacted with them. 

Emile shifted, sitting straighter as his expression settled into something that wasn't intimidating, but held more seriousness. "Well, I know we've already had this talk before, and I imagine Elliott's said similar before," He was right in that regard, unsurprisingly - Elliott always tried their best to comfort their son's anxieties, especially regarding the whole hero business. It was helped by the fact that Elliott themself faced similar insecurities about the family legacy when younger. "But sometimes it's better to hear it again. It's much easier to forget positive points than negative ones, unfortunately."

The fairy paused, allowing a moment for Virgil to decline the offer. Sometimes hearing the encouragement wasn't what Virgil needed, as they had all learned over the years, but this time the younger nodded. Armed with an indication to go ahead, Emile beamed proudly at him, and began. "First off, what made you upset with this hero? Was it because he was younger? I know there are some really young ones." 

Virgil shook his head, fidgeting. "He didn't seem that young. Closer to my age, probably?" He hesitated. "More because he looks exactly like a storybook hero. Strong figure and good stance, friendly demeanor. Everything." He huffed, gesturing at himself. "I mean, look at me. I'm nothing like that."

Emile nodded, listening attentively. "Alrighty. You seem to be fixed on your image of a stereotypical perfect hero, and by comparing yourself to it, adding pressure to the pressure that already exists from your family. Am I right?"

Virgil made a noncommittal sound, but it was enough to show that he was both listening, and that Emile was, in fact, right.

He smiled, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "I know it may be hard, but you have to remember that the 'stereotypical hero' isn't the only type of hero out there." Emile rolled his eyes lightly as he made air quotations, and Virgil bit down a smile. He knew he never liked the concept of stereotypical heroes. "You know Corbin, right?"

"Obviously. He runs the bookstore." He pulled his feet up onto the couch, curling into himself. "He's pretty cool."

"That he is! Y'know, Sloane is my godchild, and when he started getting serious with Corbin, I decided to take him under my wing." He giggled, stretching out one wing before folding it behind him, leaning back. "You know he doesn't act very much like a gracious hero, but he still completed a heroic deed! He didn't do anything big, sure, but he saved Sloane from falling down a mountain. Big or not, it sure is heroic." 

"Yeah, but Grandma and Grandpa expect me to slay a dragon or something." Virgil grumbled, retreating into his hoodie. "They want me to do something_ big._"

Emile laughed airily, gaze soft with mirth. "You sound just like Elliott. When I first chose them as my godchild, your grandparents were furious! I mean, they wanted them to be a big hero, and they thought that having godfairy support was almost like cheating. That having the support invalidated their efforts, but it absolutely didn't. When Elliott completed their quest, it was all them."

Virgil offered a small smile, eyes flickering to the left as he hugged himself. Emile, noticing thinly veiled doubt, leaned forward and watched his face earnestly. "Family legacies don't define you. That's an important thing to remember. It's your life, not theirs, and you can do whatever you darn please with it. There's no need for you to push yourself to do something you truly believe you can't do." He paused, before cracking a grin. "Besides, the thing that really sets a hero apart from the majority is their intentions and heart, not their actions."

Virgil played with the end of his sleeve, staring at the loose thread and remembering he needed to fix that. He smiled faintly, not looking up. "Yeah."

Emile furrowed his brows as he watched him, opening his mouth to continue but getting distracted by someone entering the room. He looked up, brightening instantly as he hopped up. "Elliott!" 

Elliott seemed surprised by the appearance of the fairy, but smiled nonetheless - a lazy smile, that was identical to Virgil's. "Hey Picani. I wasn't expecting you to visit today - I mean, we haven't even made dinner yet."

"Oh, don't stress. I can handle that!" Emile wiggled his fingers, sparks and glitter falling and fading in midair. "My treat."

Virgil watched the two fall into a familiar gentle banter, comfortable in the atmosphere it brought forth. For as long as he could remember, this had always been a recurring scene. 

It calmed him, or at least, distracted him from the growing sense of dread in his gut. The dread associated only with Emile's attempts at comfort, because no matter how much he loved the fairy, Virgil couldn't help but doubt his word.


End file.
